Bookstore TherapyHave you ever been in a bookstore and just wanted to cry? Not, necessarily, because anything is the matter at that exact moment, but just because it seems like a good idea at the time. My therapist says it's a good idea to let our emotions out instead of keeping them locked-up tight, so what better place to let loose than a bookstore?Of course, the problem then becomes that everyone and their middle-school kid want to know what's wrong
so I simply suspected I'd have to find something to cry about before doing so, just so as not to make the already-a-scene too awkward for the average book-buyer. Could you just imagine? "Why are you crying, Ma'am?" "I don't know
" Like, shoot me now.However, then there is also the aftermath to consider, if you are any sort of decent person that is. How am I affecting these people's lives? What sort of story will they go home with after a trip to Barnes & Nobel, intending on just picking up their child's summer reading copy of Wuthering Heigh
Hey, Jealousyeyes cloud overand alcohol makesjudgment clearwhat isn't "fair"fuels entitlementfilled angerloud voicesand a location shiftfixes nothingall is forgottenthe next morningfor fear of embarrassmentno apologyjust a loosely titled "friendship"swept under the rug
One Silver, One BlueSide by sidesat twowaiting for the rushwaiting to be grabbedto be wantedto be enjoyedand to be emptiedSide by sidesat twocompeting in appealcompeting in temptationin contentin contrastand in satisfactionSide by sidesat twobeing debated onbeing argued forbeing cravedbeing guiltingand being paid forSide by sidesat twoone in skinny silverone in full-bodied blueone dietone regularand, finally, one chosen.
SMV - Fine Day For A Hunt~’Where are you going Catriona? You came late from the party.’~ The ivory guardian told her charge as she looked at herself in the mirror.Catriona didn’t even look towards her guardian as she finished her hair. Everything was on point, and she couldn’t help but smile wickedly at the prospect of the little ‘hunt’ she was about to do. She looked presentable enough, and best of all today was a free day. Grabbing her bag and lazily throwing it over her shoulder she petted each of her guardians as she made her way to the door.~’Catriona! You have not answered my question,’~ Pixie began again to which Catriona could only look to the heavens for patience.“I’m going on the hunt. See you soon.” She answered as she took off, ignoring the bellow of her guardian as she flew out quickly.Honestly! Catriona thought to herself, it was ridiculous as to how Pixie was behaving. The Formal was nothing compared to th
Sword LessonThe visiting sifu drew his blade and steadied it in front of him, his chest perpendicular to the class line."Perhaps one of the most important things to know about studying the blade in ninjutsu is that you are not here to look good. The blade is not a showy weapon, it has one purpose only and that is to kill. Ninjutsu is only about taking as many strikes as are neessary to kill, and kill swiftly. When you practice with the blade, you must be prepared to accept that truth."The class, full of beginners like myself, was silent. Up until this workshop, we had been practicing an American mixed martial art. It was what this sifu would call showy and unecessary. The green belt ahead of me fidgeted, either with anticipation or anxiety, I didn't know. He was younger than me but had been practicing longer.The sifu let the silence hang in the room as he brought his blade up and he stared forward."You will not be successful with the ninja blade if you do not accept this, and enter every stanc
To the Yellowstone KidTo the kid sitting next to me on the walkway, waiting for Old Faithful, with the freckles, thick rimmed glasses, ginger hair and Pokemon hat, who felt enough of a connection with a stranger, not in his age group, to share something about himself. Something he thought I could relate to-- and I could. To the kid who took me so off guard that I could only think to respond with, "I- I'm sorry... that really sucks."Um, I like your Pokemon hat. It's really cool."To that kid, I'd like to say here what I couldn't think to say before:As you grow older, you will hopefully begin to find that the people close to you start finding you much cooler than they do now, and with that, they will act as much better friends than the ones you have now. Not because you will change to fit what they perceive as "cool", but because you will begin to filter out the people who don't respect you, and replace them with the truly important people who like and respect you for who you like to be.Lastly, try to avoi
A Typical Day At StarbucksI’d managed to get up earlier than usual so as to afford more time to spy on the unassuming coffee consumers of America. It was a typical morning at my local Starbucks. I walked in and up to the counter with a smile as chipper as a squirrel who has just remembered where it buried it’s supply of acorns. Excitedly, I nodded yes to the lovely barista who already had my regular drink in the making and payed with my Starbucks card so as to accumulate the occasional free drink in a few purchases.That’s when things became not so typical.Just as I was setting up my drawing pad and settling in to do some not-at-all-creepy people watching– this man came in. He seemed ordinary at first but, with my super sensitive back-story detecting powers, I could feel that there was something wonky about him.He looked too businessy. Too smart in his gray suit and matching slacks. His briefcase was too dark and shiny and his eyes too alert to everything going on in the coffee shop ar
maybe.if we fell in love with our eyes closedmaybe i could be what you wantedi always knew there was a hint of a cannibal in you, dear -sparkling eyes hungry for bonescollar-hip-neck-ribsif you were blind as lovewould you love me?i could be more than words on papermore than just this decaying bodyif all you saw was emptinesscould i fill the void?i could offer you my world of swirling words and stardusti'd whisper prose along your skinand kiss poems into your lipsand maybe you'd find me along the waybut you've got 20/20 visionhawk-eyes piercing your talons into my heartso close your eyes and count to 10-think of her maybewhen you're ready to see again, i'll be gone-just the way you like it
The Old God, Savitrॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।I.The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,and your heart coughed. I entered the circleat night, and I was consumed by fire. I did notknow of you then. I have fractured myself intoa thousand souls: but they are all whole, for I didsee you in my absence. Yet you? - youwere sailing, and your head wasfull of water light.II.I was significant when your mother poured out waterin a copper pot from a balcony; water, whichcaught and held the moon, and then spilled overwith a quiet radiance. You wondered whetherthe moon l
Blue Smocking in the True Essence of Time"You have no idea what time is going to do to you."The girl was certainly no older than me, certainly. In fact, she looked at least ten years younger than me, and her dark blue, smock-like top the drugstore chain made her wear at the register made her look even younger and more childish.If I allowed myself a moment of superficiality right then, I would have said there was nothing special about her: not her hair style, not her face, not her body, not her smile, not her eyes or even the tone of her voice. In fact, there was something slightly non-pleasing about all those elements of her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly why. Maybe everything about her was just a little "off' by the world's standard of what was beautiful and what wasn't. Regardless of that, though, I realized that at 2:00am, when I was the only customer in the store full of everything a person could need at 2:00am, it was an odd thing for her to say to me as I walked in and passed the che
The Jailori. the room smelled of paint and chocolate;a stain that won’t wash out no matter how vigorously you grate,no matter how deeply you peel. ii.“Mothers never cry when their boys run towards large army tanks, and fishermen never weep when they return home with nothing.” These were my forced whispers in her ear. iii. ticking antiques and wooden furnishing,a land flowing with silk and money.it was no consolation.pain still trickled through. iv. I told her that I don’t kiss women on the mouth, and by day I left her to her own thoughts. That’s when she finally listened and stopped her crying. v. i have sorely learnedthat when love bleeds out of his emancipating violence,the man becomes god. vi. She substituted her sobbing with writing. I planned to toss her diary into the crackling fire when she wasn’t looking. vii. i longed to run away on raw hands and feetin dark blue jeans.but instead i watched himsl
The Lost PianistThe Lost PianistTears reminisce mahogany boxed memories,Of ecstatic crescendos and tearful diminuendos.For deep in eternal sadness lies the lost pianist,Who once dreamt of glorious symphonies.As he caresses the goddess of the piano,She moans of rhythmic joy and pleasure,Executing works that rival the Siren's song,Echoing the lost voices of her past masters.But in time's command, their hearts went astray.Each lying in their own pool of heartfelt miseries.While he walks asunder, away from melodic Eden,She beckons to him, yearning to be loved.Her sorrowful notes whisper his name,When he contemplates sweet nostalgia.They swore to eternity to unite in bliss.A promise that surpasses a mere forevermore.<i>
...signaling a beginning.It is much too cold for May.Morning,cold iridescencebreaking in.He hates the cold now, you see.Although,He thought he'd always dislike heatas he had sincesix at school.Fond of hugs and of sun,being teased as'sticky Steve'.I guessdeprivationis one key to curingsome sorts of incongruities.It was much too cold that day as well.Calendar and watch andlucky compassall set out.Wind serenely flouncing,roads skimpily iced.Mrs. and son and their Tahoe byelectric barbwire were mutilated-smokey,sliver served.As he sat thereSkewered,eyes feastingforcibly,forciblysurviving.He wrapped a robe around hispajama-clad boody,scouting his bedside for his glasses.Then,rummaging through the porch bushesfor the newspaper.May 02, 2012istoday."The four year anniversaryof the taboo tragedy...""The culmination of1 year and 8 months and 13 daysin mental asylum...sentence out...""...younger sister andaunt of victims... piercing the tires""...will deservedlydecay in a
Bus RideJust sitting on this bus, remembering you.The sky is filled with the pillows and down feathers of our past.The roar of the engine can't compare to your trembling laughter.Pale concrete. A reminder of how tangible your soul was.(I can still feel its warmth emanating off the surface in solar waves.)Cars fly by like my short time with you, and the streets assure me of your distance.We pull to the stop sign, marking our end.Blazing summer heat of memories stall me,and I am left in the exhaust of my affection.
another fix, pleasethat feeling of reliefin darkened days remembering oncewith hollow eyes and broken gazes,floods my skin like taut stares,uncomfortable the key snapping blurry worldsinto focus.I dissolve, scars upon scars,building tales of monthsforgotten andpain bleeding outside borders only blissful addiction.[ breathing monitored,as watched as I am ]confusion, hazy like countingbackwardsfor that feeling in freedom,for waiting.perfection comes in bloodand agony, for searchingout hungry addiction.watch addiction, hungry,out searching for agonyand blood.in comes perfection,waiting for freedom infeeling that,for backwards counting like hazyconfusion.[ am Ias watched asmonitored breathing? ]addiction, blissful only borders outside bleedingpain and forgottenmonths of tales buildingscars upon scars. dissolve.I focus into worldsblurry, snapping.key the uncomfortable stares,taut like skin.my floods &
Wolf and LambBeckon the full moon,Call out to spirits of past,Where the white wolf sings
The harvest moon breaks through the trees,To a land protected by night seekers.The silence broken by harmonious melodies,Sung by the wolves- the midnight keepers.The full moon breaks the night,Ravens of mourning taking to flight.Wolves howl to their lost,Through the wind and the frost,Where the world awaits twilight.Midnight moon above,Take away hunger of wolf,Lest he betray sheep
Violent storm across the sea,Siren song which holds my fate,Draws the end of the voyage to me,To the shores for my greed and hate,Where I shall wait for all eternity.Look to the second star on the right,Praying for hope to last through the night,No more violent ocean swells,To bring me to my hell,But a ray cast from her heavenly light.Ocean of flock swells,As wolf hunts on devil's ground,Dressed in sheep's clothing
Cast rays of heavenly light,Toll out the ancient church bell,Forgive him for
lapsus calamiyou're smooth, you knowall soft skin and and long fingers,cupping my cranium and sliding throughthe tendrils of my haireverything about you screams dangerous,the way your smile starts--languid and lazy becauseyour lips speak in secretspassed through dry presses of mouths andshaky exhalesyou're ineffable,the way your chin tips upjust soto show the expansion of your neck,the littering of freckles that createconstellations and desirei'd trace the lines of your bodywith careful and practiced touches,i'd turn you into poetry--transform your lungs into lyricsyour ribs into rhymes,your tongue into text andyour spine into something morei'd fall in love with you andyou'd never dieyou're smooth, you knowlike the insides of thighs andthe slopes over hipsbutmy heart is yours--i'll give it to you, if you want ityou're just going to have to pay it backwith interest
In Honor of Khaleesi Davis and Other WomenA thigh gapis not a landmarkon a heart map.Scars are stories.Freckles fromfun days insun rays.Tattoos a gardenof chosen flowersand every haira blade of human grass.Great ass is nota complimentit’s a commenton society socially objectifying.it’s not the features in magazinesthey airbrush upbut the little thingsthey photoshop offthat I love about you.
Your Name's My Best ObscenityThe sweetest curses are sugar on lipsIf I died this evening, you'd find your nameaflame- the words I last shouted in vainlingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss-revenge is addicting, venomous pain,even spent on cries I know are mundaneNo fixing up this unholiest tryst,forged by two fools who believed in their lies;or maybe it was I, eager for lighteven in spite of the flaws I had seenCan light be fake? Were your twinkling eyesa mere disguise to make me ignite?Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams
pacificher longbow mouth is un-strung; loose bottomlip with a cockedjaw -.shebirths into him likea womb
ways i have been worni. mistslike a vapor.a wisp about a fingerflexedmissizedmisstepsand exhaledlike cosmic debts.ii. plainslike a drought.the rush for everpresentshadeunstableunmadethe silenceof desperate haste.iii. seaslike a flood.a tide without a validcrestobtuseobsessedthe collapseof a crush immense.iv. snowslike the first.a taste of infinity'sbreadthunsureunsaidand betrayedby a depth unmet.v. universeslike the vast.the promise of intertwinedrestimbuedimpresseda designbeyond history's test.
the impossible language of iceis it seriousdo people like wordson the inside of their fridgeare they happy, or am I happyno, no this is ridiculousthough a relationshipwith a fridge doorwith incorrect spellingof words upon itand one withouti fear will not changethe position of happinessand yet makes one yieldto a magnificent beastthat leaves me to growthe ingredients of soupthough it sounds like theimpossible language of ice
if death is a sentenceif death is a sentence,let mine beworth reading slowlyin the early morningand bring to your heart,my dear,the ebb and swellof the sea
BrokenThe lace of my skirt was only as perfectas the flesh that it covered my childhood stretched until the woman inside could be seen, raw and bleedingHe left behind calloused fingerprintson every seam that he toreThe lace of my skirt is only as perfectas the attitude I put into every pleat my fingers burnt flat with blistered scars that left me negative, flawed and reviledShe left her signature on the stitches, scribbledwith needles and veinsThe lace of my skirt will only be as perfectas the stranger looking in the mirror
When Intending PermanenceWhen one intends "permanence",one must write it witha well-crafted ampersand.